


Healing Touches

by Delouest



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Common Cold, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-19 11:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3608049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delouest/pseuds/Delouest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor has battled countless demons, high dragons and the breach, but how do they fight the common cold?<br/>~*~<br/>Each chapter will be a little scene with a different Inquisitor, their love interest and how they are taken care of.<br/>1: Iron Bull<br/>2: Blackwall<br/>3: Sera<br/>4: Dorian<br/>5: Cullen<br/>6: Cassandra<br/>7: Josephine<br/>8: Solas</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bull's Softer Touch - The Iron Bull

**Author's Note:**

> This was a challenge inspired by a conversation with Farashe about how the different love interests would react to the Inquisitor getting the common cold.  
> [Check out her scenes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3609144)  
> (as well as her other amazing stories!)

**Bull's Softer Touch**

Helsi never would have thought Bull could be so gentle. But when she came to him with puffy eyes and a runny nose he took pity on his kadan. He scooped up the dwarf without a word, (though not as forcefully as he sometimes did when they were having fun). He held her against his broad chest and carefully made his way up the tower to her quarters.

By the time he reached her room, she was dozing lightly against him, mouth open because she couldn't breathe through her nose. He held her in one arm as he pulled down the sheets to her bed. Slowly, so slowly she hardly felt the transition from arms to mattress, he eased her under the covers.

She opened her eyes groggily. “Care to join me?” Helsi asked in what she had been hoping would be a sultry voice, but was interrupted by a coughing fit.

The Iron Bull chuckled. “Alright, Boss. But how’s about you get some sleep first?"

“‘m not even tired,” she argued weakly. She made a face, but her eyelids felt heavy.

~*~

She wasn't sure how long she slept, but the sun was in a different place when she woke up, sneezing in fits.

“Easy there, Kadan,” Bull said. He was sitting next to her bed in a chair he was comically too large for.

His name for her made her cheeks flush more than they already were. “What do you have there?” she asked in a raspy voice. Her blankets were pulled high up to her chin, but she poked a single finger out enough to point at a tray of items next to him on the nightstand.

“Ancient qunari remedies,” he said. He took a rough ceramic cup and poured something out for her. He helped Helsi sit up slightly in bed, smoothing the pillows she leaned against, but held the cup to her lips for her to sip from. “Drink it all down in one go,” he said.

The minute it hit her tongue she sputtered through a cough that had nothing to do with her cold. “This is pure alcohol!” she choked.

“Oh there are some other things in there too, but yes. Quite a lot of alcohol. Drink up. It’s good for your throat.”

Helsi muttered to herself but swallowed it down, trying not to make a face. She knew Bull would tease her about it later. But right now he was looking at her with soft eyes, with a thumb gently massaging her tender throat as she swallowed. She leaned into him, reveling in the warmth and soothing touch.

“There. Did that help numb it?”

Helsi took a practice gulp and was pleased to note that she was able to swallow. She also took notice of her vision, which was already blurring. Whatever he’d given her was strong and worked fast. She sniffed loudly and tried to pull the blankets up to cover her face, pushing his hand away. She knew how she must look and felt self-conscious with Bull watching her.

“I bet you wish you could breathe through that nose, huh?” Bull said.

Helsi, now not much more than a blob of blankets, nodded with a rustle under the fabric.

“You’ll have to come out of hiding then.”

She pulled the blankets down. Her dark red hair was damp with sweat and messy; her braid had come undone and had left her hair crimped in its absence. The freckles that usually spread across her face had all but disappeared into the red skin that had been rubbed dry and chapped from overused handkerchiefs. The deep green tattoo that ran through her eyes only seemed to highlight the greenish yellow tint she had taken on since becoming sick.

“There she is,” he said as she reemerged. Bull looked at her with the same hunger he always saw her with, undeterred by her appearance. Helsi smiled weakly and noticed a tiny red pepper held out for her in his large hand.

“What’s that supposed to do?” she asked.

He chuckled darkly. “Hurt you at first,” he said. “But I know from experience you can handle it. Might even like it.” There was an evil glint in his good eye that made her shiver. Or maybe it was the fever. He held the pepper to her mouth and slowly she bit into it.

The fire spread into her mouth all at once, overtaking her. Her eyes streamed and her nose ran but she grinned; for the first time in days she could smell the musky scent that she had come to associate with Bull. Pheromones and sweat and dragon’s blood. She took a deep breath through her nose before leaning into Bull’s side with a soft sigh.

 

 


	2. A Moment of Weakness - Blackwall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Blackwall's turn to care for his stubborn Cadash.

### A Moment of Weakness

When Malika Cadash stumbled into the stables and nearly tipped over from dizziness, Blackwall practically leapt to catch her.

“My lady, are you…”

Stubborn as ever, Malika glared at him with watery eyes and he kept his distance. “There’s nothing the matter. I’m fine,” she said, but her throaty voice betrayed her.

He crossed his arms and frowned. “No offense my lady, but I’ve heard battle horses on their last breath sound better than you do.”

“Ever the charmer, my valiant Grey Warden.” She tried to do a mocking bow, but her balance was off. This time she really did fall forward.

Blackwall, who had never considered himself a wise man, caught the Inquisitor before she fell, despite her protests. She was too weak to chastise him fully now anyway. Her face smooshed up against his padded shirt and she stayed there as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, keeping her upright.

“Alright love?” his whispered into her hair.

She sneezed in response, almost certainly mussing his clean shirt, but he didn’t care, even when he felt her rub her nose against the fabric. “I’m not sick. It’s the smell of the horses.” She sneezed again, and groaned against his chest.

“There there,” he said as he steered her towards the fire he had been stoking before she’d arrived. He kept a blanket there for the quiet moments he took for himself. Tiny wood shavings stuck to the well-worn fuzzy blanket. He laid it out as carefully as he could, one arm still steadying his love. He grunted slightly as he sat and tucked his legs under himself, a motion that had been easier in his younger, less battle-weary days. He held out his arm to his still standing Inquisitor.

After a moment of prideful debate, Malika finally put her weight onto his hand, allowing him to guide her to the ground. She stretched out on the blanket, using Blackwall as a pillow. She pulled her hands to her mouth and covered a cough, still trying to deny her illness.

“You’re sick. Let yourself have a moment of weakness,” Blackwall said brushing her hair from her eyes. “We all have them. You, for example, are mine.”

She smiled at that and twisted to face the fire, embarrassed to meet his eyes. “You’re never big on words unless you’re talking to me,” she said quietly. “Why is that?”

He chuckled and rubbed her back absently. “Very few things inspire me like you do. Now hush, my lady. It’s time for you to sleep.”

He sat there, her head on his lap, running his rough fingers through her loosened hair until her shallow breathing evened out into slightly less raspy breaths. Occasionally she stirred fitfully in her sleep. When that happened, he placed a gentle hand to the side of her warm face and smoothed the worry lines from her forehead until she drifted back to sleep. Eventually the embers died out. Blackwall’s legs were stiff, but he refused to wake his lover when she so desperately needed to rest.

When a messenger came looking for the Inquisitor the next morning, he found the two stretched out on the stable floor. Blackwall’s arm wrapped tightly around Malika to keep her warm, and she was curled into a ball against him. The courier set the message on the table nearby and tiptoed away. It could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a challenge inspired by a conversation with Farashe about how the different love interests would react to the Inquisitor getting the common cold.  
> [Check out her scenes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3609144) (as well as her other amazing stories!)


	3. A Sickname for the Inquisitor - Sera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sera's turn to help her Inquisitor! A sick Herah gets a new nickname, and Sera gets an idea to take down Corypheus

Sera’s door was ajar, and that’s not how she left it. Slowly, silently, she pulled her bow out and notched an arrow.

There wasn’t much room to hide in her little nook, but Herah also wasn’t exactly small. She lay sprawled across Sera’s cushions, a giant lump under a pile of blankets and pillows with her horns peeking out from the covers. Dark grey calves and bare feet hung over the edge where she didn’t quite fit.

Sera dropped her bow (it clattered unceremoniously to the floor) and let out a bark of a laugh, waking her lover. “Oooooh, looks like someone left a present for me!” she said as she yanked the covers from Herah.

It wasn’t a pretty sight. Her face was ashy, her eyes were bloodshot (more than the usual qunariness, Sera noted) and her nose was running in rivulets. “I- oy! Scratch that, you look like some bit washed their arse on your face ‘n’ pissed on it.”

Herah groaned and pulled the covers back over her head, still not quite managing to cover her horns. When she pulled the blanket higher, her feet emerged below. She was far too large for Sera’s room. “I’m sick, Sera. Take pity on me,” Herah mumbled from under the covers.

“I thought you qunari were supposed to be tough. Rawr, big strong giantess and you got yerself the sniffles. I’m shaking in my skivvies.”

“Let me cough on you and we’ll see how brave you really are,” Herah growled, which was all the more effective from the raspiness caused by the cold.

Sera laughed. “Pfffft. S’pose you’re right. Can’t shoot a cold ‘n the face, can I? Well… I could, but it’d mostly just be you getting an arrow between the eyes.” Sera bounced on her tiptoes before bending over to kiss the space between Herah’s eyes. “And I _like_ your eyes.”

Herah grinned in response, which was unfortunate, because it meant her mouth was open when a sneeze ripped through her, spraying the pillow and blankets she was wrapped in.

“Ugh. Forget Inky, I ought to call you Drippy. You’re gettin’ snot all over my things, ya know?” But she smiled and pulled out another blanket from a nearby trunk. “Here. When I feel as shite as you look, I like blankets. Build a fort and tell everyone else to piss off.” She paused a moment, fingers running over the silken edge of the blanket she was tucking under Herah’s chin. “You want me to piss off?” she asked with a frown.

Herah looped her leg around Sera’s, knocking her over into a heap next to her. “No, dummy, I want you right here. Why else would I have come to your room?”

Sera grinned wildly. “Ha! Keep that up and the serving ladies downstairs’ll think you fancy me.”

“So what if they do?” Herah said, hugging her closer. “Should I be jealous?”

“Only if you think I like boring whatsits in stuffed shirts and long skirts.”

Herah chuckled. “I don’t think I would even fit in a skirt.”

“Yeah, right? That’s probably my favorite thing about you. Don’t fit into clothes like the rest of ‘em. Means more legs for me.” She waggled her eyebrows lasciviously.

Herah felt another sneeze coming and on buried her face in a handkerchief at the very last second.

Sera twisted around and snatched the damp hankie from her, holding it by an edge between her thumb and forefinger. She wore a wild grin like she’s just discovered something.

“Hang on, bet you I could bottle this and make it into a grenade, yeah? Coryphy-tit would never see it coming. Boom! Now yer gross and you’ll catch a cold. Genius that is. Save the world with a bottle of snot."

Herah said nothing, only pushed the elf off the cushioned seat (she landed with less grace than one might expect of an elf), shook her head and sighed. Sera remained on the floor, giggling to herself while her sick lover went back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first piece I'm writing from an LI I have not yet romanced. Please forgive any OOC moments if I didn't get it right. My plan is to romance Sera as a qunari because she seems VERY interested in asking Bull what the ladies are like. Rawr! ^_^ (Also, I die laughing at the fact that their names rhyme. How dare they be so cute?!)


	4. Leaving Him Speechless - Dorian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian finds his Lavellan in the library with his voice completely gone, and he is unsure how to help.

Dorian Pavus was on the hunt for a very specific book. He was in the middle of a debate with Solas - though the others in the library who were trying to read would say it was an argument - and he knew there was a passage that would prove that stuffy elf wrong. Now if he could only remember which book it was…

He ran a finger across a shelf, head turned to the side to read off the titles. “No. Not it… Another volume about Divine Galatea? Overrated drivel. No. No.Where are you? I know I saw you just yesterday…” He rounded the corner to his alcove.

Mahanon Lavellan was curled up on his favorite chair. “Well, well, well,” Dorian purred. “I came looking for a book, but this is far more interesting. I’m sure I can take a break from putting Solas in his place if you’re looking to have some fun, Amatus.”

Mahanon looked up slowly, still curled in a tight ball with his face leaning against the high-backed chair. His dark skin was ashy and his lips were cracked.

“Amatus?” Dorian kneeled down, not caring if he scuffed the metallic ornamentation that covered his clothing. He leaned into his lover, pressing the back of his hand to the elf’s burning forehead. Gently he brushed the dark hair from his brow. “Fasta vass, you look. Well, it isn’t polite to tell you how terrible you look when I’m standing right next to you, radiating beauty as I am. What’s wrong?”

Mahanon rolled his eyes at Dorian and tried to sit up in the chair. It didn’t work, he slumped down farther. With all the energy he could muster, he held his hands up to his throat and grimaced in pain. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Dorian frowned momentarily in concern before he shook it off and flashed his white teeth in a smile. “At a loss for words, I see. You know, I had dreamed of the day I would leave you speechless, but it didn’t involve a cold. It involved… Well. It’s not proper to discuss such things in the presence of others. Though it would certainly give them something to talk about.”

His words were filled with bravado and he grinned salaciously. But the moment Mahanon’s heavy eyelids closed again, the smile wavered and his mustache drooped. There was worry behind the lighthearted mask he wore. Mahanon’s head fell once again as exhaustion took him.

All at once Dorian felt a sucking in the pit of his stomach like he’d jumped into a pool of ice. He’d never cared for a loved one that was sick before. Never had the opportunity. This was all new to him. Back home, when he fell ill, no one had been there to care for him, to press a cool cloth to his forehead or feed him soothing spoonfuls of honey. He didn’t know how to do this, how to be a caretaker. How to love.

He’d read about it, of course. But that was in books. Words on paper. So many words, so much fiction. How could he separate that out and apply it to his own life? Could he really deserve it?

Dorian considered the sleeping man in front of him who was shivering slightly in his sleep. He knew he was no idle distraction to the Inquisitor. Mahanon had said it in no uncertain terms, frustrated with Dorian, asking him to allow himself this happiness. For both their sakes.

A shout from Solas below echoed up the chamber, interrupting his thoughts. “Dorian, should I take your silence as defeat in this matter? I believe before you left you told me you would soon be ‘rubbing my turned up nose in your words,’ or something equally crude. I can’t remember the exact phrasing, but Sera would have been proud.”

Dorian stood and walked to the balcony, looking down at the elf on the ground floor. “No, Solas,” he said, raising his arm in defeat. “You win this round. I have other matters to attend to at the moment.” Walking back to his nook, Dorian carefully pulled off the blanket that hung on the back of his chair and tucked it around his love. Mahanon was so sleepy he did not stir, even when Dorian slid into the chair next to him, hugging him to keep him warm.

On the floor below them, Solas opened his mouth to shout back, but found that he had no response. Dorian had never admitted he was wrong before.

The elf was left speechless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want Dorian to be happy! He deserves all the good things in the world. I could go on forever about how sad/happy his romance arc makes me.


	5. Returning the Favor - Cullen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is usually the one who needs looking after, but now it's his turn to take care of his Inquisitor.

**Returning the Favor**

Evelyn Trevelyan blinked away a bout of dizziness and braced herself against the war table. She was the Inquisitor. She led an army. She could not allow something as trivial as a _cold_ to slow her down. She felt like quoting Cullen.

_No. This is ridiculous._

On the other side of the table, Cullen was unable to hide his concern. While Leliana discussed what Scout Harding had discovered in the Western Approach and Josephine took notes, he twisted the hem of his surcoat with worried fingers.

For Evelyn, the war table went in and out of focus. She gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white with effort.

“Inquisitor?” Josephine asked. “Are you alright?”

Evelyn swayed on the spot. Cullen skirted around the table to place a steadying hand at her lower back. Even through the thick fabric of her clothing, he could feel the heat of fever. She radiated unnatural warmth, and sweat gathered in a fine layer at her hairline.

Leliana crossed her arms and frowned. “Josephine, send a messenger for a healer. Clearly something’s wrong.”

Evelyn shook her head to argue, but the motion proved to be too much. Dizziness took her and everything fell to the sluggish pull of exhaustion. The last thing she remembered before the war room faded from her vision was strong hands catching her.

~*~

She woke some time later in a bed under a thick layer of blankets in a familiar yet surprising place. The roof above her was open. Sunlight poured in, warming the blankets she was wrapped in. At the foot of the bed, Cullen sat with his back to her, head bowed. She could barely make out the mumbled words, but they sounded like prayer.

“Cullen?” she croaked. “How… how did I get to your room?”

He looked up and twisted around to face her. “Evelyn. You’re awake.”

“Yes, awake. And wondering how you managed to get me up that blighted ladder of yours while I was unconscious.”

The scar on Cullen’s lip twitched as he fought a smile. “With enough determination, Lady Trevelyan, anything is possible. Especially when you stop caring about how undignified you look in the process.”

“But why go to the trouble?”

“I thought it would be better to bring you up here where I can prevent your hoard of well-meaning companions from… helping.” He sighed. “But enough of that. You should rest awhile longer. Maker, why didn’t you tell us how sick you were?”

She struggled to sit up, but she found that the blankets were tucked too tightly for her weakened body to escape. He slid closer to her side and smoothed the sheets back down, but he placed another pillow behind her head so she could sit up without effort.

Once she was settled, her temper flared. “I have a job to do,” she said. Clearly she was not happy to sit back and sleep. “Corypheus isn’t about  to let us rest because I have the unfortunate luck to catch a cold. If I stop for even one day, it could mean another innocent falls.”

Cullen shook his head. “We are so very alike. To a fault,” he said, rubbing at his temples. “But you are of no use to the Inquisition if you can’t even stand. You were the first to help me when I was… When I couldn’t…” He could not find the words. “When I was not at my best. Sometimes - Maker forgive me - I think you would be better off without having to worry about me. But now you’ve fallen ill, and I know what must be going through your head when I…” he let himself trail off.

Evelyn looked at him sadly and finally settled into the pillows, calmed by her compassion. “Cullen, there is no shame in needing help.”

“Exactly. You’ve taught me that. Now take your own advice to heart. It’s time for me to return the favor. Let me care for you, for once.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. The fur that lined his tabard tickled her nose. She sneezed, but found herself laughing as Cullen brought out a handkerchief for her.

“Alright, alright. I concede,” she said. “I’m willing to let you take care of me today. But tomorrow we hunt demons.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Cullen said as he stretched out next to Evelyn. He let his chin rest on her head and his hand traced soothing lines up and down her back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh these two stubborn dorks. Cullen and Evelyn like giving advice better than getting it. 
> 
> Comments always welcome.


	6. Read Me One of Those Horrible Stories - Cassandra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunter Trevelyan is sick, but he's certainly milking it for all its worth. Cassandra sees right through him.

**Read Me One of Those Horrible Stories**

Cassandra Pentaghast came running. The messenger had told her it was an emergency; she was needed immediately in the Inquisitor’s quarters. The frightened-looking dwarf woman had not specified the nature of the emergency, only stammered out that it was urgent. Cassandra took the winding stairs two at a time, the sword at her side clanging against her thigh as she ran. She burst through the door with her hand at the hilt, ready to attack if needed. The door nearly broke with the force she kicked it in with. Small splinters fractured from the wood, but Cassandra paid them no mind.

“Hunter, I am here! What-” she cut herself off when she noticed how quiet the room was. She looked around for signs of struggle, and found none. The curtains were drawn, but light peeked through the edges, giving the room a light glow. There was no one in sight.

Cassandra’s fingers flexed, still on the handle of her sword. “Hunter?”

A small cough made her turn, and finally she saw him: Hunter Trevelyan. He had been easy to miss because he was buried under blankets in his bed with just the top of his head poking out.

“What is the meaning of this?”  Cassandra cried out. “Here I thought you were under attack, or at the very least in some sort of small danger.” She huffed in frustration. “But here you are. Lying in bed.”

Hunter pulled the blankets down to his chin. “I’m sick,” he said. “Terribly sick.” He sniffed for emphasis. While it was true that his voice sounded a bit scratchy, he looked fine to her. He pouted and looked up at her with big eyes.

Cassandra sighed and stepped over to the edge of his bed. She finally allowed her hand to drop from her weapon and rested it on the Inquisitor’s forehead. After a few seconds, she shook her head. “You are fine.”

He forced a weak cough.

Cassandra raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

He reached up to Cass’s hand and pulled it from his forehead. Bringing it to his lips, he kissed it softly and whispered, “Take care of me?”

She rolled her eyes, but did not pull back the hand he now cradled against his chest. “You lead an army against the worst evil Thedas has known since the first blight. And you want to be coddled because you have a cold?”

Hunter’s confidence wavered. He was not used to his charm not working. Cass was a strong, no-nonsense woman, of course she would not bend to his childish whims. He knew she was making him a better person, much better than he would have been had he not become the Herald. He’d never had to work a day in his privileged life, and then, that day at the Conclave, responsibility had been thrust upon him.

But today… today he wanted to be simply a man with his love, to stay in bed and let Josephine face the visitors, let Cullen lead the troops. And he wanted Cassandra to stay behind with him.

Cassandra saw the doleful look Hunter wore and a small part of her melted. “What would you have me do?” she asked. “I see you already have tea, and you are clearly settled in to rest. There is nothing more I can offer to help.”

Hunter smiled. “Read me one of those horrible stories of yours.”

“They are not horrible,” she cried out, pulling her hand from the Inquisitor and fisting it against her chest, offended. “They are lovely.”

“In the one Varric wrote, he used the word throbbing eleven times in one chapter.” He laughed until it trailed off into a cough.

Cassandra blushed. “Your point being? Surely if you are feeling well enough to mock me, you are well enough to take care of yourself.”

Hunter only smiled. “Please?”

It was the please that did it. With an audible sigh, Cassandra nudged Hunter over to make room for her on the bed. Hunter shifted to a seated position and leaned against her shoulder as she settled in.

“One condition,” she said.

“Name it.”

Cassandra pulled a well-worn copy of the first section of Swords & Shields from the top of one of her tall boots. She thumbed through the pages to find a good starting point. The pages fell open easily because of the book’s cracked spine. “You cannot tell Varric I have been carrying his book around with me. I would never hear the end of it from the dwarf.”

Hunter nuzzled into Cassandra’s shoulder to distract her from the fact that he was crossing his fingers. “Deal.” 


	7. A Diplomat's Vitaar - Josephine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine may not know everything about qunari customs, but she knows her way around an inkwell (and maybe a little bit about how to get around her favorite qunari lady).

**A Diplomat's Vitaar**

Ashra Adaar was not an intimidating qunari. Even though she towered over nearly everyone she met, she held herself as though she were ashamed of her height. In her defense, she had taken out several doorframes since moving into Skyhold - Josephine Montilyet merely laughed and added them to her growing list of renovations needed before giving her a peck on the cheek and rushing back to work on her latest project. Even if her love found it cute, her posture had suffered since she started living in human-proportioned confines.

But today she stood even more hunched, almost apologetic. She wore a loose-fitting robe, cinched at the waist, her arms crossed over her stomach in a defensive stance. Josephine was at her desk scribbling furiously, nose nearly touching the parchment. The qunari woman debated simply turning and leaving her be, but an involuntary cough escaped her.

Josie looked up from her work, finally aware that someone was watching her. “Oh my,” she said, taking in the sick Ashra. “Well this won’t do at all. Can you imagine what people will say if they see… this,” she gestured to the Inquisitor, “as the leader of the Inquisition?” She shook her head and muttered to herself. After pacing the room and tutting under her breath, she shooed away the messenger who held his station in her office and locked the door behind him with a soft click.

Ashra coughed again. She knew she was already not what people expected of her. But Josie being disappointed in her on top of it all was too much to bear. “I’m sorry, Josephine. I told you before everyone started making a fuss over me, I’m not their herald. I can’t help that I’m a qunari. I am what I am. But I always thought you of all people didn’t care about that…”

Josephine’s face fell. “Ashra, no. You misunderstand.” She dropped her work, closed the gap between them and took hold of Ashra’s hands. “I spend all day corralling dignitaries and herding around prospective assets to the cause, all so you don’t have to. To see you sick... I know you don’t like to be in the public’s eye under the best of circumstances.” She sighed. Seconds later, she clapped her hands together decisively, the sympathetic look she had moments before gone. “Lie down,” she said, gesturing to the padded couch near the fireplace. “On your stomach. I have an idea.”

Ashra didn’t argue. She had learned to go with Josephine’s ideas. She was rarely ever wrong. Without any fuss, she eased herself onto the couch, head resting in the crook of her arm. Her horns scraped at the chair’s arm, but she paid them no mind. If she stopped to worry about damaging Skyhold’s furniture, she would never get any rest.

“You know,” Josie said, smoothing out the swath of Ashra’s hair that had gotten tangled on her horn, “I have been doing some research.”

Ashra chuckled. “That doesn’t surprise me. You’re known for doing that.”

“About qunari. About you. I hope that is alright. I asked the Iron Bull about the paint you wear into battle.”

“Vitaar.”

“Yes. I wanted to know, but I did not want to offend.” Ashra heard the rustle of fabric as Josephine eased onto her knees next to the couch. Slowly, Josephine eased the robe from Ashra’s shoulders, revealing the dark grey skin of her back underneath. She made to lift her head, to look behind her, but Josephine placed a hand on her cheek to still her and whispered for her to keep her eyes shut.

Ashra was not sure what was happening, but she sighed at the feel of the cool hands against her skin. Her fever had reached its peak, and the touch was a small relief. “You couldn’t offend me, Josephine.”

Josie cleared her throat. “Yes, well. I now know it isn’t just paint. It’s armor. Strength. It isn’t just defensive, it helps you fight back.”

Ashra’s murmured in agreement. Next to her, she heard the sound of glass jars clinking together and moments later felt something cold and wet run down her spine. “Josie, what?”

“Hush,” she said. She dipped her paintbrush back into the inkwell. With a careful hand she ran the brush across the surface of Ashra’s back. She blew lightly on it to dry the wet ink, causing the Inquisitor to shiver. “I know this is not a traditional vitaar, and I know it is not my place to claim to understand what you do when you go out in battle. I know words, people, treaties. But this,” she said, running the brush across the muscles of the Adaar’s back, “is somewhere I can meet you in the middle. This is a vitaar of my own. Perhaps it will give you some strength and fight off this cold.”

Ashra laid still as she felt the light tickle of the ink as it was swirled in patterns on her back. She was too tired and too dizzy from sickness to recognize the patterns or shapes, but that was not the point.

When the ink had dried, and Ashra hovered somewhere between waking and sleeping, Josephine traced the lines again with her fingertips. The inquisitor’s breathing slowed as she drifted off.

Before she stood to let Ashra continue her rest, she pressed a soft kiss to a shoulder blade and pulled the qunari’s robe back around her. “Sleep well, love. Fight that cold with the strength we made together.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always welcome! Only one more LI left to go!


	8. Cold as Ice - Solas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Synn Lavellan doesn't like to admit when she's sick. But when an icy despair demon forces her to slow down (by literally freezing her in place) she comes face to face with her weakness, and Solas is there to help warm her up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for sticking with me so long. The end has finally come, and Solas is here to finish the series as the last love interest to care for his Inquisitor. Thank you for stopping by one last time in this collection. Comments always welcome. Enjoy!

**Cold as Ice**

“Solas! Where’s that barrier?” Synn barked. “Blackwall, get that damned pride demon distracted. Forget its electricity, it’s going to _stomp_ Cole to death. Speaking of... Cole! I know you’re fast and tiny, but Creators, how do you manage to get underfoot so much? Duck and weave, boy!”

Synn Lavellan was not in a good mood, though with her temper, it was hard to tell sometimes. Her orders were shouted across the battlefield, her voice going raw, cracking and sending her into coughing fits mid-order. They had been fighting for ages, yet the fade rift continued to spit out demon after demon.

Cole lept through the air to jump on the back of the Pride Demon, finally bringing it down. It fell, its energy disintegrating into the rift. Before they could celebrate, another Pride Demon erupted from the green crystals that shifted above them, seemingly made from the energy of the one that had just been slain.

“They’ll just keep coming until the rift is sealed,” Solas shouted to the others.

“We’re being pushed back. It may be time to consider a retreat,” Blackwall shouted as Cole was once again knocked back after leaping into the fray.

“Now is not the time for that, Warden. Are you always so quick to surrender? Imagine if your kind had given up so easily during the last blight,” Solas chastised.

Blackwall did not have an answer for that save for the pursed lips of his disapproval. Instead, he lifted his shield to bash at an approaching shade that had come up on them during their bickering.

A minor calm settled over the battlefield and gave the Inquisitor the chance to reach up and close the rift. She dropped her shield to free her hand and tried. Pressing her palm to the sky, she tried to pull on the invisible threads that flew loose in the air around the breach above her that would tie that spot shut for good.

She felt for the familiar tug in her wrist, but nothing happened. She sensed no bundle of magic in her wrist like she had come to expect and then - she sneezed.

It came from nowhere and green light burst from her hand, seeming to wake the rift that hung low in the sky. With a crack, more demons erupted from the ground, and a despair demon careened out, head hidden in its icy shroud. It shook as it cackled with laughter at the Inquisitor’s predicament.

Synn made to lift her sword, but another violent sneeze ripped through her. She lost her grip and the sword clattered to the hard-packed earth at her feet. She still had her shield, and she lifted it to protect herself as the only barrier between her and the particularly aggressive despair demon that continued to target her. Synn rolled to the side, reaching for her weapon. As the momentum carried her to her feet, and she made to lunge at the demon, a sudden burst of cold shot down her spine, freezing her in place. Synn cursed as her knees locked and she tipped forward, once again brought to her knees. “Vhenan!” she thought she heard somewhere in the background before the battled faded from her sight. Everything went black as icy fingertips gripped her to the bone.

* * *

Synn woke with a start, unsure where she was. Above her, the rough canvas of the Inquisition tents swayed, pulled by a gentle wind. All she remembered was the fight: fast, cold, wild, and the itching in her nose and the scratch in her throat. Now she lay in a warm bedroll, and the world was still around her.

“You’re awake,” Solas said. He sat on the ground at her side, face passive and calm. If he had any concern of her being seriously injured, he didn’t show it. He wore a small smile, and that cleared up any worry she may have had, so she didn’t bother asking after her well being.

“So we won?” she asked.

Solas’s face flickered slightly into a frown. “We neither won, nor did we lose,” he finally said.

Synn had little patience for Solas when he talked his way around a subject. “We either won or we lost. There isn’t much in between to be had in a battle that ends in either side’s death.”

She rolled over, to look away from Solas and found she was face to face with Cole, only he was upside down, crouched on the ceiling of the tent. “What in Creator’s…” she stared at his hat, waiting for it to fall off and searched for the place he was hanging from. “Cole, I…” Synn trailed off. She paused a moment before it dawned on her. “We’re in the fade, aren’t we?”

She could almost feel the approval radiate from Solas as she caught on. “Indeed. I knew you would eventually notice.”

“The squirrely boy on the ceiling kind of tipped me off.”

“ _You’re_ the one who’s upside-down,” Cole said.

Solas put a warm hand on Synn’s shoulder. “A despair demon caught you off guard. You were knocked unconscious trying to close a rift. The battle still rages on the other side.”

“I have to get back! I have to wake up!”

Cole looked at Synn with his cool blue eyes, seeming to cut right through her. “But you’re turned around, twisted, tangled, teetering on the edge. Fever tears through the magic that heals the tears.”

“I have a cold, Cole. Nothing more. I’ll get over it. I’ll be able to close the rifts again. Please leave me be.”

Cole looked sad for a moment but smiled before saying, “Solas wants me to leave too. Wants to be alone with you, wants always to be alone with you.”

Solas cleared his throat, a bit of a blush coloring his normally pale cheeks. “Cole, it would be best if you left now. The Inquisitor is under enough mental stress at the moment without both of us poking around in her head.”

The boy cocked his head. “But _you_ don’t plan to leave yet. You want to heal her hurts, mend her mind.”

Solas rubbed his temple. Synn wanted to laugh, but thought it might keep Cole around longer. She wasn’t sure how the fade worked, had never been one for sitting with the Keeper to talk about things that didn’t matter directly in her life. How could she have known she would one day hold a literal key to the barrier between the magical world and the one she lived in? Even without knowing how the fade worked, however, she assumed the fewer people in her head would help ease the headache she felt building up behind her eyes.

...Though perhaps that was the cold she had been ignoring for too long rearing its ugly head.

When she looked up see Cole, she found that he was already gone. As sneaky in the fade as he was on the battlefield it seemed.

“So?” she asked. “We’re alone now?” Synn was never one to trust that just because she couldn’t see Cole that the boy wasn’t still somewhere nearby.

“It would appear so.”

“Good. And we’re definitely in the fade, right?” Solas fixed her with a look. She grinned. “I only ask because I want to make sure that when I kiss you here, you won’t catch my cold.”

Solas looked almost bashful when Synn spoke like this, which meant she took every opportunity to fit small endearments into their conversations. Words like that from Synn were never offered to anyone else, so they were considered precious kept close.

Synn, growing impatient with Solas’s inaction, pulled him in closer to her. When their mouths met, she felt his smile against her own. Laughter and warmth and solitude in each other’s arms.

* * *

 

Before she could pull away, Synn found herself on the battlefield, curled in a stiff, near frozen ball on the cold ground, fingers and toes tingling as she thawed. Sickness and cold rushed back into her, and she felt the pain harder now after her brief reprieve in the fade. She cried out, voice hoarse.

The world around her was shifting like she was inside an oily soap bubble. Her head ached terribly, as did her throat. She blinked, disoriented after being wrenched from the fade and the kiss, but eventually she realized she was under a protective barrier Solas had been providing while she found her way back to herself. He leaned heavily on his staff, shaking as he struggled to keep up the barrier, fists clenched.

Though every muscle in her body screamed as she moved, Synn pulled herself from the ground and to her feet. She nearly tipped over from dizziness and numb feet, but she saw the despair demon buffeting itself against Solas’s barrier. It ripped where it hit and made a loud cracking noise with each charge. The sound must have been what finally tore her from her sick slumber.

“Solas! Let down the barrier,” she bellowed. “I was having a lovely dream until this demon woke me up. I think it’s time to pay it back!” She gripped her sword, shifted her shield on her arm and went headfirst into the fray.

“As you say, vhenan,” Solas said. Relief washed over him as he let the magic fall. Blackwall and Cole, seeing that the Inquisitor was back on her feet, began to fight with renewed fervor. Solas smiled at Synn as she ran back to battle, strong as ever despite her sickness. She would heal. Or at the very least, she would scare the cold into leaving. It worked on most of her other adversaries, after all.


End file.
